Church Plants - Where and Why?

The BFF-DRE and I have a question.

Do you know of any UU churches that were planted in the last 20 years that were not planted as a function of "we want a UU church that is more convenient to us."?

(Other than Micah's Porch and A Third Place.)

Edited to add: (And other than all of the UU Albuquerque satellite churches.) Kit's already mentioned some congregations planted as outreach churches. Keep 'em coming. And if they were deliberately planted in low-income areas, let me know that, too.

A snappy new day

"It's such a good feeling ...."

After a somewhat stressful morning -- they went back and redid scans, I swear the techs wouldn't meet my eyes, so you know my stomach was churning -- we finally got the news.

N.E.D.

No Evidence of Disease.

So many friends were along with us, checking my incessant tweets. (I ask you -- "Living on a Prayer" done as music therapy on the pediatric cancer floor? Really?) And we are celebrating tonight. Not just the good news, but all the love. As Rev. Sean said, Ice Cream for Everyone!

So, it's that time again

So ... life is good. Seminary is good. My parents come in town today. They haven't seen their grandkids since last July. Spoiling will ensue. Spring Break starts today. I'm planning for a wedding. (as an officiant. I'm not quite at Mother of the Bride stage yet.)

And ...

Scans are Monday. Early early.

4 months have gone by, and here we are again. By Tuesday, our lives could completely change again. God, it freaks me out just to write that. Is there a superstition that I shouldn't acknowledge it?

By Tuesday, we could be celebrating in a big way. Wood, salt ... really, where is the Letitia Baldridge Guide to Superstitions that Will Protect You Against Cancer when you need one?

Some things put me in a pretty good place. Three of the folks just a few months or a year ahead of us, on the same treatment protocol, came back recently with clear scans.

But I'm also carrying around some grief. Long time Wilms' friends, who have reached the end, no more treatment, and are figuring out how to meaningfully and lovingly navigate their children's last days. With one, I share When I breathe in, I breathe in peace; when I breathe out, I breathe out love. She thanks me, said it was just what she needed.

They teach me lessons I pray to my depths that I will never use.

Life is messy and all mixed up mashed together. "To Do" list for today includes 1) vacuum house, 2) Do SKSM reading, 3) Email bride/groom, 4) Find BFF-DRE's bday present, 5) cry.

So, I've blogged, shed a few tears. Time to go vacuum. Shoot, I forgot to put "eat lunch" on that list...

The Birditarian Birdaversalists

And what prompted the story of the Penguins and Purple Martins:

Two seemingly related worlds sharply diverging from each other.

Purple Martin World: UU seminary/ministerial world. Here, everyone I run into – UU seminarians, UU ministers, UU professors – would agree that the number one mission in a UU church should not be community. It should be a result, not the raison d'être.

Penguin World: small minister-less UU churches who agree that their number one mission is community.

(Yes, there may be UU ministers who don’t fit Purple Martin World and small minister-less UU churches who don’t fit Penguin World. But these are what I have had experience with.)

On Facebook, I reposted a quote I saw on Peacebang’s status:

"Transforming Congregational Culture" by Anthony B. Robinson: "Too many churches have adopted as their implicit purpose the maintenance of a congenial community for their members."

A member of Penguin World posted:

“And this is wrong because …………….?”

Ms. Kitty responded:

I think "Community" is only one of the reasons for being a church. Without a common purpose that is larger than "community", a congregation will be hard-pressed to really be a community. Our churches need to be striving for something larger, like feeding the poor or housing the homeless or working for justice.

And more folks responded, the majority of them revealing whether they live in Penguin World or Purple Martin World.

At the same time, I was talking to someone helping a Penguin congregation figure out their values. Their top 3 values are all permutations of inward “community.”

Two different understandings about the purpose of church.

Rosemary posted:

Sad Story.
These poor penguins did want to fly but they didn't have the wings...

And poor Rev Purple Martin who now has a mess on her hands....

Can the Association of Birditarian Birdiversalists do a better job of preparing Rev Purple Martin to understand and navigate congregational dynamics?

Love that!

But I have to argue with point 1 … the penguins didn’t want to fly, not for some selfish reason, but because in their world, that’s not their purpose. Their purpose is to swim.

So I think that in answering the greater issue: what do we do about these penguins and purple martins? -- we have to address both sides.

• Yes, the Birditarian Birdiversalists need to prepare Rev. Purple Martin in understanding the difference between a Penguin church and a Purple Martin church, and how to better navigate, teach, work with, etc, her beloved Penguins.

• AND, the Birditarian Birdiversalists need to discover how can they affect the evolutionary process of the birds. Because it’s an evolution. In this metaphor, the penguin and the purple martin both start as the same thing, but they evolve in different ways. Is there a way for new church start-ups, the ones who say they want to be minister-led, to evolve with wings? Wouldn’t that work better than try to figure out how to retrofit them with wings later on?

Is anyone else envisioning Opus lighting a chalice at Bloom County UU Fellowship?

Now, I am revealing what world I identify with, in that there is an assumption on my part that it is better to "fly" than to "swim." Yup, I'll own that.

But you often can live for a long time just swimming and eating fish. Might not grow the flock much, but they could be content in their penguin-ness.

So I think we need to figure it out all around, own it, and move on. During search, don't tell the minister, "Sure, we want to fly!" if you want the benefits of flying, but don't actually want to fly. And minister, if you see that they are swimmers and don't want to change, are you sure you want to play the "I can change him after we get married" game?

But hey, I don't know. I'm still a Lizard Eater.

Penguins and Purple Martins

I believe a church evolves, just like animals do, albeit a lot faster.

A church that has evolved without a minister is a different animal than a church that has evolved with a minister. So the church without a minister has evolved into -- let's say, a penguin. And they look at themselves at say, Yes, this is what a church looks like, and this is what a church is supposed to do -- swim.

But they're not doing much growing, because all they do is swim and eat fish in their tiny little pocket of the world. So they hire a minister, who evolved to be a purple martin. And the martin says, Okay, it's time to fly! But the penguins look at her and say, "What are you talking about, birds are supposed to swim!"

The martin somehow manages to convince them to come up on the roof with her. They're looking a little leery, so she gets them to the edge and then pushes them off, expecting them to be like baby martins and open their wings and fly.

Splat splat splat.

They didn't evolve to fly.

Authentic Gift

I purchased “The Gift, Poems by Hafiz” translations by Daniel Ladinsky recently. I had for years been a fan, picking up stray poems here and there; I don’t know why I wasn’t prompted to buy one of the Hafiz books.

But I have it now, and love it. Even if

It
Makes me
Think
In a peculiar sort of
Rhythm and
Meter.

It puts my thoughts into a Hafiz-type meter, and even the words of my thoughts themselves seem affected.

I can’t read Hafiz
Without Weeping
I say to
Myself

Somehow,
These Words
Reach me on another level
My box of
Emotions
Opens wide

It is not so much
That I
Read
These poems
As I
Feel
Them.

I know there are those who quibble with Daniel Ladinsky’s interpretations (for interpretations are what he calls them, not translations); they say they are not authentic to the original.

To which I say, “Who cares?”

I respond to the words themselves, not to who wrote them.

A few years ago, many people fell in love with this:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

It was often incorrectly attributed to Nelson Mandela. Truth is, it was written by Marianne Williamson in A Return to Love. Oh, but it had so much more value when people thought it was written by Mandela!

I’ve seen the same happen over Oriah Mountain Dreamer. When they thought the writings were written by an old Indian man, they were treasures. But then they found out Oriah was a white middle class mom … oh no!

Phhbt, I say. Like the words or dislike the words for themselves.

And back into The Gift I go.

What Moves Us -- making it hit home

It's the details, good and bad, that bring our stories alive.

Sam Sanders talks about this in his article, Taking Black History Out of the Peanut Gallery. When we just talk about the positives, the over-arching accomplishments of our heroes, we're just reporting dry history.

It's those details that make stories come alive. And we have some fabulous stories in our UU history.

That's why I love, love, LOVE the new What Moves Us curriculum by Rev. Dr. Thandeka.

The program uses the stories of our theological forebears. But wait, don't change the channel yet. The purpose of the program is not to learn about the forebears. That's ancillary. The program is about going into your memories, your experiences, prompted by their stories. Finding out ... well, what moves you.

So, to do that, details of our forebears lives are brought out. They become alive. Learning that by age 9, Margaret Fuller would spend a grueling day having her head stuffed with knowledge, only to be awoken at night by her father who would make her come to his study and report everything she learned that day. You can see it -- the demanding father coming into her bedroom, intrusively waking her with a kiss on the lips, carrying her to his study and quizzing her about the day's lessons. It comes alive, warts and all.

I've mentioned before that, being a Southerner, I come from a long line of storytellers. My father integrated the stories he learned about the Unitarians into his rotation, and oh, how he would make them come alive. Michael Servetus was his favorite -- he related to a guy whom he said, "up until the end, still believed that if he and Calvin could sit down together and talk, he could persuade Calvin to his argument." Like other fathers telling ghost stories, he recounted how they strapped Servetus' book to his side, adorned him with a crown of thorns, and, on Calvin's orders, used green wood when they burned him at the stake, so as to make the misery last longer. I get chills just remembering it!

It's the details that catch hold of our imagination. Learning that Olympia Brown had a falling out with Susan B. Anthony, (whom we think of as such a militant feminist -- hmm), because the latter said that Brown should work for suffrage of both Negro and woman, not speaking one extra word on behalf of women. (Meanwhile, Brown was out on the circuit with Black men who spoke in favor of Negro suffrage, but not votes for women.) It was complex. Life is today, and it was yesterday. Simplifying the stories only renders them lifeless.

We are human, and we have weaknesses. Learning about the internal and external battles of our heroes, their clay feet, makes them relatable. Knock them off the pedestals so we can all reach them! It won't make us love them less, it will make us understand them more.

Why the Hell Are You Doing This Sermon???

I have a dear friend who asked me to coach her in writing a sermon. It has wound up being a great gift to me, as it’s forced me to think through the steps I take. Some are obvious – Big Idea, main points, explanation/illustration/application, but as we’ve done this process, step by step, I realized there are other things I always do, that I never thought about as steps.

The biggie is The Reassess.

After she was more or less done with her sermon – it was all out there, but no tweaking and editing yet – I said, okay, time to reassess. Send me a paragraph or so, explaining why you're doing this sermon. I told her to imagine a bitchy person at her elbow, asking, "Why should I come hear this sermon on Sunday? I could be in bed, or seeing a movie, or outside playing golf. What is so important that I should spend my free time coming to hear this?"

She wrote me a polite little paragraph, the kind of thing you could drop into a church newsletter.

Nuh-uh, I told her.

And I opened up a can of Sermon Whoop-Ass.

1) Have confidence! You have a VITALLY important message to give. This could, literally, be a matter of life and death. You have the power to SAVE someone on Sunday. OWN IT!

2) Translate this into your own theological language: You are in this place, at this time, for a reason. This is not just to fill empty time on a Sunday. A Holy Spirit (whether God/Goddess involved or not) is moving in you and through you. This is not about feeling too proud. It's about being confident in the life-giving message you are to give. As Thandeka says, "Salvation is NOT a solo act!"

Now ... write back to me, no fancy language, use expletives if you need to: tell me why the hell you're doing this sermon on Sunday, what you want someone to walk away with, what is going to feed them, challenge them, and keep them going for one more week of this existence!!!

In case I didn’t mention it, we’re very good friends.

She dug down deep, wrote back with an on-fire answer, looked back over her sermon, did some tweaking to make sure it matched her fiery answer. It rocks.

I’ve always kind of done that step automatically, but I’m glad I have it down in words. “Can of Sermon Whoop-Ass.” It will be one of my official steps now, too.

Your House Is On Fire

Many groups of people have ways of getting folks to find out what they most value. For chefs, as Anthony Bourdain has reported, they play "last meal" -- it's your last meal, what will be on your plate? For fashionistas, it's about the closet -- you're leaving on a long trip, but can only take one small duffel. Go to your closet - what do you take? For home organizers, it's "house on fire" -- your house is on fire, and you have 5 minutes to get out. Assuming those you love are safe, what are the objects you grab?

So, okay, UUs. Prompted by a couple of columns, I say to you ... your UU house is on fire. You can only grab 3 things. What do you grab?

Of course, I don't mean "things" and this isn't the joke about the UU minister grabbing the coffee pot. I'm serious. I think we're at a point where our house is on fire and we have to decide what are the elements most important to us, so that we can discard the rest, and open our doors to let in new people. We've got some volunteers ready to help us put out the fire, but they're not sure if they're welcome.

So, culturally, what do you grab? I'm not talking theology. I'm not talking Principles and Purposes. I'm talking about those cultural things that aren't written down, and yet, often define us, whether we want them to or not.

How do you feel about people standing outside your front door, smoking? What about pickups in the parking lot, with gunracks in the back window? How about for a fundraiser, selling hot dogs outside a Walmart?

Your UU house is on fire. What are the three things you grab?

I'll go first.

* Inclusive language -- saying "they" rather than "he," saying "parents" rather than specifying "mommy and daddy," etc.

* Being known as the "gay friendly" church. I walk in a world of evangelicals. All I have to do is say, "I'm UU" and the glbt folks I meet know that I'm "safe." What a wonderful religion, where just revealing you're a member is taken as "code" for being accepting of others.

I'm still thinking about that third one.

Reverend First Name

A conversation arose on Facebook recently about the use of “Rev” in front of a first name. Reverend John. Reverend Jane.

The question was posed in terms of ministers using it themselves, as in signing a note, “Rev. Jane.”

I wonder, however, if this is being driven by the ministers as much as it is the parishioners.

Some history: if you want to be puuuuurfectly correct, not only is “Rev. John” incorrect, but so is “Rev. Smith.” Reverend is an adjective. So an envelope is addressed to The Reverend John Smith, and when you speak to him, he is Mr. Smith. And if you are not using the first name on that envelope or in an introduction, what is proper would be “The Rev. Mr. Smith.”

(a little background)

But language does change according to the needs of a society. Sometimes, a correction can take hold and stop the evolution. For instance, a few years ago, “penultimate” became the trendy word, but with incorrect usage: many used it to mean “beyond-ultimate” rather than correctly, “one shy of ultimate.” But then enough people spoke out to say, “No, that’s wrong,” and suddenly, it seemed, everyone knew the correct usage.

Other things are losing battles. I was one of those passionately explaining to all and a sundry that the year 2000 was not the first year of the new century, 2001 was. Guess what? I lost.

“Raised” is another one. It was not correct to say that you were “raised” UU, you were “reared” UU. But even William Safire had to give up that one.

And some are decisions of priority. I, an English major, fought against the increasing usage of “them, they,” etc. as a singular tense word to avoid the exclusivity of “him, he,” etc. when gender wasn’t specified. But eventually, I had to make the decision that inclusive language was more important to me than proper subject-pronoun agreement. A minister should understand that they have the right to be flexible …

So back to, for me at least, the important issues at hand – who/what is driving the “Reverend First Name” bus and does it fill a need?

I think “congregations” and “yes.”

UU congregations, especially those who haven’t always had a minister of their own, have two forces at work: on one hand, they understand that ministry is something we all do together. They are teammates with the minister; especially in small churches, the minister is not someone removed, several steps away from the laiety. He’s the guy in jeans next to you at the planning meeting, she’s the gal squatting down to show where the leak is in the nursery. So calling them by their last name would seem artificial, and a bit odd.

But, I am also seeing a move to set apart the minister. Perhaps because of that intimacy, perhaps as a reaction against the devaluing of ministers, (those who have ever been involved in a “why do we need a minister anyway?” discussion known what I’m talking about), a congregation wants to make sure everyone knows that this is the minister, and that the position itself is accorded a certain level of ceremonial respect. Hence, Rev. John and Rev. Jane.

I saw this happen in my own church. After a stretch with no minister, they got Rabbi Shaman. A bit to his surprise, they began calling him Rev. John.

It fulfilled two purposes. He was sanctified – set apart – but they also had the feeling that he was down in the trenches with them.

Was it that reasoned out? I don’t think so. I think it arrived fairly organically – we have a lot of children in our church, and being in the south, children here don’t call adults in church by their first names. They call them Mr. First Name and Ms. First Name. And so this was Rev. First Name. And it fit the adults’ needs as well. So Rev. John went with the flow.

Will this be one of those things where correction pulls us back to what is proper, or another evolution of language? I dunno. I kind of imagine it will be the latter. To paraphrase someone else’s remarks, Call me Rev. First Name, call me Rev. Last Name, call me Rev. Nickname, call me by my name. It’s all good …


p.s. And now you must excuse me to go play some music to try and get an pesky earworm removed. As I child, I was a fan of Mr. Green Jeans, on Captain Kangaroo. So when I heard, “Forever in Blue Jeans,” I thought it was, “Reverend Blue Jeans.”

Money talks
But it don't sing and dance and it don't walk.
And long as I can have you here with me
I'd much rather be
Reverend Blue Jeans.

Suicide

Okay, okay, I’ll talk.

Suicide has been swirling around me recently. Not, thank God, anyone I know. But the subject. Songs. A celebrity here, someone in town there, a movement against it. People losing jobs, losing themselves, feeling without hope.

Yes. Love is written on my arm.

“I don’t have time to talk about it,” I tell the universe as yet another reference drops into my lap. And today, Kinsi is writing about it, personally, and heartfully.

Okay. Let’s talk.

As I’ve written about before, my elder brother committed suicide.

I was 10 – almost. It was late at night, and I thought I heard my mother laughing. I opened my parents’ bedroom door, and my mother was sobbing. I had never seen her cry before.

They had just received a cold, brutal phone call. “You son was found dead, hanging from a tree.”

Since their other son was in the guestroom with his new wife, they knew who it was. They would have known anyway. He had had “problems” for years. It’s like he was born without that little bubble each of us has, that bubble that provides a bit of protection from the pain of living. Things that would make other people sad – injustice, starving children – would just slice him to the core.

He was a genius. Literally. A brilliant mind. And it extended into creativity. He could pick up a musical instrument the very first time, and within 30 minutes, be playing songs on it. He was a visual artist, crafting things out of found objects.

He hadn’t yet found the drive in himself to do the work you need to do in life. Schoolwork. Responsibility. So he dropped out of high school, decided to join the air force. My father signed the papers. They had already tried counselors, programs. Maybe this would do it.

Instead, he was introduced to drugs, hard drugs. Which only fed his demons inside.

He came home, tried doing different things. He wandered.

He was only 23 when he killed himself. He laid out his military papers so he could be buried for free. He laid out his little life insurance policy.

My parents had to identify the body. My father saw the rope burn marks on his neck, and something broke inside him.

My other brother, 21, newly married, newly graduated, took the job of cleaning out our brother’s apartment. A job my parents will always regret letting him shoulder. Because as those who have done it know, it is excruciating.

My parents still grieve. My dad still hates Father’s Day.

My children, as they became old enough to hear the stories that included “Uncle J,” have asked, “What did he die from?”

And I have explained, that just as you can get sick in the tummy, you can get sick in the head. And you can get help for it, just like with your tummy.

“You know how when you have a bad stomachache, it feels like you’ll never get well again?” Yes, they know that feeling.

“Well, you can get so sad, that you feel you’ll never be happy again. But what happens with your tummy?” It finally gets better, they say.

“Yes. But you had to tell Mama or Daddy so we could get you medicine or take you to the doctor, right?” Uh-huh.

“Well, it’s the same with getting that sad. You have to tell someone. Even if you don’t believe you can ever be happy again, you have to tell someone. You can tell us, or a grownup friend, or a teacher. But you need to tell someone. Just say, ‘I’m sad, and I don’t know what to do about it.’”

So, right now … if you feel like this, if you find this … please.

Tell someone. “I’m sad and I don’t know what to do about it.”


If you are thinking about suicide, read this first.

Slow Revolution - Alexi Murdoch

We had our music communion a couple of weeks ago, where I was introduced to this song.



We had two of our most talented women doing it -- one playing piano, very simply, and one singing ... occasionally with a breaking voice, because it affects her so much.

Powerful.

Stites wins We Media Game Changer award

Congratulations, Tom!

Last Chance to Vote for Tom Stites!

The voting is about to close for the WeMedia Game Changer Award that I mentioned the other day. Tom is in the lead, but the gap is narrowing. Please go vote if you haven't, pass this on to your super duper networks, etc.

Vote for Tom!

Religious Experience for kids

The first religious experience (by which I mean, an experience in church, which is not necessarily a religious experience and in my case, certainly not) that I can remember, I must confess, involved those markers that smell fruity. We had each been given a copy of the 23rd Psalm, and were decorating it with markers and such. I had never encountered those markers and thought they were terrific. I keep sniffing my 23rd psalm later to see if the smell remained.

That is also the last experience at that Unitarian church that I can remember with any detail. I was about 12, we'd moved to an area closer to a UU church, so my parents took me. I finally complained to them that all we did was "talk about our feelings and eat donuts." They had already done the whole church thing with their first set of kids, so they were happy to go back to Sunday mornings of reading the newspaper and puttering around the house.

About a year later, I went to UCC Summer Camp with a friend of mine, who went to a UCC church. One week of being in nature, staying in screened cabins and taking cold showers, singing "I found happiness, I found peace of mind, I found the joy of living, perfect love sublime, oh I found real contentment, happy living in accord, I found happiness all the time, wonderful peace of mind, when I found the Lord."

I remember that week, and the week the following summer when I returned, in great sensory detail. The feeling of holiness sitting on a stone bench during the worship time. The feeling of warmth and closeness when we discussed God. Praying, s'mores, crafts, friendship. Singing, singing, singing. Silently meditating, sitting on the stone bench, the only light coming from the moon.

Now, it's not fair to compare the two. Sunday morning and summer camp are two different things. But it makes me think about what opportunities we're giving our kids for religious experiences.

And adults, for that matter.

--

I had already written the above post when I found this sermon of Rev. Anthony David's. It's good. "Amen" out loud good. What Kind of Unitarian Universalist Are You?

Everything I Needed to Know About Church I Learned at Weight Watchers

Okay, not everything, not by a long shot. But a lot.

1) Going every week matters. They can actually prove it with numbers -- those who attend lose three times as much weight as those who don't.

I can't imagine a way in which we could measure the effect that attending church has on congregants, but I think chances are good that there would be a positive correlation. For WW, it's two-pronged -- community and accountability. You go, you trade tips, you get motivated -- and you step on the scale. Every week, it's accountability time.

I have a mental cartoon of someone standing on a scale at a UU church. "That's wonderful, your soul has expanded 3 cubits this week and you've lost 3 ounces of selfishness!" Which leads me to ...

2) But the real work is done during the week. The half hour in the meeting doesn't yield any great results -- we're not on treadmills while we listen to the leader. The real work is done when we leave the meeting and apply what we've learned in our normal lives. It's when we choose to make a pan of stir-fried vegetables over microwaving a tray of mac and cheese.

And after church, it's when we decide to assume good intentions on the part of our co-worker, spouse, the person who just cut you off in traffic. Or when we're mindful about how we spend our time and money. Or any of the other choices that add up to living a deliberate, spirit-full life.

3) Having someone who can speak from experience matters. The only way you can work at WW is to be a "loser" yourself -- someone who lost weight on the plan.

Whether it's from the pulpit or in our small groups, speaking from experience, and not just something we read or heard, matters. This gets to the core of what we know. Or I guess I could say, "What we really know." There is a joke amongst parents -- "I was a better parent before I had children." It speaks to how confident (in some cases, arrogant) we were before having kids. "I don't have children, but if I did, I'd ...." And then we have kids. And we learn it isn't that simple. Speaking from experience matters.

Come to think of it, that's why I started going to WW. The BFF-DRE's Mom went and shrunk. And kept it off. Her experience spoke to me.

4) Those who aren't in it, will think it's a cult. Tee-hee.

"Why did I cringe away from WW?" I asked myself last year, as I kept watching the pounds slowly slip away, week after week. I think I had that "cult" idea in my head. And then I joined. And found that it wasn't anything as exciting as a cult, it was just, frankly, a hum-drum, common sense program. A commercial enterprise. You pay, you get their tools and access to meetings.

But when you're outside a group, it's always easier to feel that those inside the group are foreign. Before I had babies, I was that way about La Leche League. Militant Booby Pushing Cultists! I thought. And then I had babies. And went to some meetings. And it was just boring old mommies, trying to figure out how to nurse discreetly or up supply. Negotiating the terrain.

I see this in churches that don't have covenant groups, when you try to get them started. There is this fear that the small groups will become little cliques, that those on the inside somehow have more power than those on the outside. "I don't have time to be in a group, so I don't want there to be any," is an unfortunate message that has come through loud and clear. And then the person makes time to go to a covenant group, and learns that among all the benefits of the group, exclusivity isn't even on the radar.

5) If you work the program, it works. If you don't, it don't.

So you have the person who comes to church, excuse me, WW meetings, and they do attend regularly. They don't change their diet. They don't exercise. They don't count points. And they say, "This isn't doing anything for me! It doesn't work!"

Last year, for about 5 months, I worked the program conscientiously. I counted my points. I exercised, a bit anyway. And I lost 25 pounds.

Then the kids were out of school, and my schedule changed, and I had learned how to do it enough that even without working the program, I didn't gain weight. But I stopped losing. I stopped the program. It was a pretty simple corollary.

"I'm not being spiritually nourished," says the person who comes to church, but doesn't do further reading, participate in adult RE or small groups, or volunteer for any programs. This is the other side of #1, above. Ya gotta work the program. Christians say something about how going to church every Sunday doesn't make one a Christian anymore than sitting in a garage makes one a car. True dat. If you're not willing to make any changes in your life, then going to even the best sermons in the world every Sunday isn't going to do it for you.

6) It isn't for everybody.

When we are converted, whether to WW or UUism or a particular kind of vacuum cleaner, it's easy to convince ourselves that what works for us will work for everyone. It won't. There's some for whom WW just doesn't do it. And the same is true for church. There are some for whom Unitarian Universalism just isn't going to fit, but going every week to a Catholic church and reciting the creeds and getting the juice and wafer will.

I went to Mass this past Saturday for a school assignment. Between eyeing the dead Jesus hanging in the back wall, the very businesslike Eucharist, and the message, (not to mention the kneeling), it just didn't work for me. But it obviously works for some. I don't begrudge them.

We're all just trying to negotiate the terrain.

As for me, WW worked for me, so I'm back on it, counting my points and all. And yes, occasionally I can get a bit enthused, like when I found the 1 point tubs of Litehouse caramel dip. And I go to church, and have been known to get a bit enthused there, and take it home, and then do something crazy like enroll in seminary.

"Work it, baby, work it! Own it ...."

Tom Stites and the Banyan Project

Huge congratulations go out to former UU World editor Tom Stites. Because of his work with the Banyan Project, he has been nominated for the WeMedia Community Choice Game Changer Award. He needs your help to win it, though. Just go to http://wemedia.com/awards/2010-community-choice-finalists/ and click next to his name.

Apparently the Game Changer Award will be presented in May at the WeMedia conference in Miami; the winner presents the conference's keynote address to a room full of influential journalism people and -- most important -- foundation executives who include the top people from the Knight Foundation. Winning the award would give the not-for-profit Banyan startup a huge boost in its search for funding.

From Tom:

Why should people vote for me, other than because you'd be doing the asking? Because at a time when newspapers are dying and the Supreme Court is bombing democracy, the Banyan Project would strengthen it.

Banyan's journalism will be tailored to meet the distinctive needs of the hugepublic of less-than-affluent Americans, the everyday citizens so ill-served by mainstream news media. It will thus not only serve democracy but also address a significant justice issue: Media critics tend to overlook the class and economic injustice inherent in today's top-down journalism, which aims almost entirely at serving the elites, and the damage to democracy that it causes. Overcoming this injustice is a major element of what drives the Banyan Project.

In short, Banyan exemplifies UU values, not only by upholding our Fifth Principle but also by creating a wholly new model for journalism rooted in a consumer co-op where the editors are accountable to readers the way a minister is accountable to a UU congregation.

So -- if this is something you support, activate your networks, get that whole UU-interconnected thing working and get out the vote!

Interseminary Retreat

So, last week, I met 3 others from my seminary, and we, plus our dean (my calls-himself-a-conservative-Christian-but-acts-like-a-liberal-theologian professor and advisor) drove three hours to an interseminary retreat. In attendance there, were conservative rabbinical students, Muslim seminary students, Catholic seminarians, and an assortment of liberal to mainstream Christian seminarians.

Yeah baby!

I have to back up and admit that I was quite nervous before we left. Why? I guess just because I didn't know what to expect -- there were no clear schedules or agendas sent out beforehand. Which caused me to remember that really, we need to be SO CLEAR on our websites about what people can expect Sunday morning, because I'm not a particularly anxious person, so surely there must be other folks who look at our sites, and make plans to come, but then chicken out at the last minute. But that's a sermon for another day.

But back to the retreat ... my suitemates included a young rabbinical student, an about-to-graduate Methodist from a Presbyterian seminarian who is my age, and my roommate (Baptist), from my own seminary.

That she and I were put together was intriguing, because we have a mutual friend who tried to match us up a couple of years ago. It was right after Obama's speech on racism. My roommate is a pastor at an African-American church close to my church. Our friend and I had the idea of putting together interracial dialogue groups. But then Little Warrior was diagnosed with the recurrence, so that went to the wayside.

But now, she was my roommate.

Tuesday night, the Jewish scholar gave a presentation on Abraham's angels, and what hospitality means within conservative Judaism. We chatted afterwards, found we had some similar experiences and clicked. Dontcha just love it when that happens?

The Jewish scholar, hereafter referred to as "The Kick-Butt Rabbi" (a name she has already been given by others, but that I wholeheartedly endorse), was also in my small group. I'm so glad, because she made things real interesting.

The next morning, there was a presentation by the Christian scholar (UCC) on the symbolism of Abraham's angels from a trinitarian perspective.

Afterwards, in our small group, the about-to-graduate Methodist from a Presbyterian seminarian asked the Rabbi what her thoughts were on the presentation. "Do you really want to know?" she responded. The seminarian answered in the affirmative.

The K-BR pulled no punches. "I was completely offended," she said. She went on to explain her feelings about Christians appropriating the Jewish Bible. "It's not the 'Old Testament,' it was not superseded by the New Testament, and Judaism did not end with Jesus," she explained. "You have your own scripture, use it!"

The Methodist seminarian and a Baptist from my seminary (not my roommate) were hurt and confused. This was their first time to run into this. "But, we're grafted from the same root," protested the Methodist.

"That is not what we believe," said the K-BR.

The conversation went back and forth. It was interesting to watch, but at a certain point, a bit frustrating, like watching people speaking two different languages. The Christians just genuinely could not relate to this idea of appropriation. So I jumped in, thinking of Garrison Keillor's recent essay about Christmas. I believe I even quoted his "buzz off" part.

"You know how some Christians feel about Christmas? 'Keep the Christ in Christmas' and that sort of thing?"

They nodded. They felt the same way.

"Okay, I believe that's how the Rabbi feels about her holy books." K-BR nodded assent.

"Now, how do you feel about the Tanakh being studied with forward, not backward motion?" I asked her. (Or something like that.) "Not using Christian theology to interpret it, but to give an understanding to the Judaism that informed Christianity?" K-BR endorsed that.

This, of course, didn't fully answer the wants of the Christians, who protest that they cannot interpret the Hebrew Bible without applying their Christian interpretations to it. It is their holy text, they believe, so for someone to say "Hands off" just doesn't connect. (Although I talked to my Methodist suitemate later, bringing in "Revelation is sealed," vs. Mormonism ... she got the point.)

But it was great to both witness the honest exchange and to come up with an example that seemed to resonate.

More later ...

We interrupt this show for an important breakdown ...

Okay, so, I jump from the Interseminary Retreat straight into a Very Amazing New UU Curriculum Training. No problem, right?

Unless, of course, I have some conflicting feelings left from the retreat that I haven't dealt with?

The conflicting feelings were not at all about the retreat itself, or the interfaith dialogue therein, which was all wonderful and which I'm really going to write about, I promise.

No, the conflicttion was about ... what else, childhood cancer.

Issues: a) don't want to be "that" person -- the "Hi-my-name-is-Lizard-Eater-and-my-daughter-had-cancer-twice" person.
b) don't want to talk about it, period, because it's a conversation killer. Toddler with cancer -- it's gotta be right up there on the list of "Things That Have Been Enshrined As Too Horrible To Think About" ... at least, thinking about them for longer than a St. Jude's commercial.

So, I went to the retreat, with Not Going to Talk About IT fixed firmly in my mind.

And kept finding myself talking about it.

Didn't want to. But this was a religious retreat, we were talking about Deep Meaningful Experiences, and darn it all, it kept coming up. Not in any sort of a big way, but it just always seemed to be popping up; I kept having to reference it in some fashion. It's like this -- you're talking about hospitality and about the deep need people have to take care of each other. Well, I've had a pretty powerful experience of that this year. But I can't talk about that without mentioning Make-A-Wish. And I can't mention Make-A-Wish without explaining that my daughter had cancer. So I wound up doing this quickie little thing each time, that went kind of like:

"Okay, see, my daughter had cancer twice, she's 4 now, but she's completely fine now." Done all in one very fast breath, kind of like one giant word -- "Okay, see, mydaughterhadcancertwice,she's4now,butshe'scompletelyfinenow."

Inauthentic? Me?

And since then, I've been kicking myself over and over, not for being inauthentic, but for talking about it at all. "Can't you find other examples?" I berated myself.

This was one of those experiences where the real magic came through people being open and honest, two things that, for better or worse, I've always been. Probably too open and honest. Til now. Because the truth of the matter is, my pain can hurt others. It just can. A child with cancer is too many people's bogeyman.

But hey, retreat is over. I need to deal with it, and figure out a plan. Maybe I'll send an email to X, who has gone through something similar. When I get time.

That whole "God said Ha" thing.

So, I'm in this Very Amazing New UU Curriculum Training led by someone I've gosh darned nearly worshipped for years, and we're talking about religion. And emotion. And the connection. And then we watch a funny clip of a movie, except that it's not so funny because the funny character in it is me, happily going along, "Yeah, yeah, Mrs. Lincoln, other than that, the play was a success ..."

And then we listen to a song about a missing heart and armor and roadblocks and oh shhhhhhhhh....

I've mentioned before that God is occasionally not at all subtle with me because, I don't know, maybe I have a brick head or something?

So, here's the layout: It just kinda happens that on one side of me is the BFF-DRE who has lived and cried with me all through this. On the other side is Prez, whom I've known casually for several years, but who had the amazing "luck" to call me the night before LW had her Big Surgery (age 8 months) -- the friend who asked what he could do, and was tearfully told, "Well, if things don't go well, can you help me find a UU minister who will do the funeral?"

In front of me is Rabbi Shaman. Next to him was the Elder Stateswoman, who has sat silently and comfortingly with me in hospital rooms.

You know, because subtle doesn't work on me.

So, we listen to the song, and then we are to call out what we are thinking or feeling. And so, with tears now streaming down my face, I choke out,

"Sometimes we don't share our pain because it will hurt others.*"

You know how sometimes ... very, very rarely ... we're able to actually see ourselves as something separate, like another person? Well, there it was. "Oh you poor idiot," I said to her. "You were at a spiritual retreat. Your daughter just finished treatment a year ago. And she's had cancer twice. It WAS an intense experience. OF COURSE it is going to inform your feelings on just about everything right now, certainly on anything religious. I mean, really, you think the examples that spring to your mind are going to come from Schleirmacher or Kant or even Frankl? Your daughter freakin' had cancer. Twice. By the time she was 3. You poor, dumb, sweet girl."

So, the breakthrough happened. Unfortunately, sometimes when the waterworks start, the knob breaks off and there I am, a weepy leaky faucet.

Sometimes, a breakthrough looks like a breakdown. So be it. "So don't mind if I fall apart; there's more room in a broken heart." And this is Unitarian Universalism. Our religion. Our religion that helps with the healing of broken hearts. So may it be.



*Personally, it kind of pisses me off that the Hysteric Cleric (see comments: Dec. 29) called up God and ratted me out, but what can I say, it is a scary power he wields. The tattletale.

Servant of God

Just got back from my interseminary retreat -- evangelicals and conservative Jews and Muslims, oh my! Will be writing more about that later. Short version: amazing, AMAZING experience.

On the drive back, our school sponsor, my calls-himself-a-conservative-Christian-but-acts-like-a-liberal-theologian OT professor and I were talking about movies. He's a bit of a movie buff, big fan of Pulp Fiction. I told him about From Dusk Till Dawn that the Hysteric Cleric turned me on to, which is worth watching (it's a vampire movie) if only for this exchange:

Seth: So what are you, Jacob? A faithless preacher? Or a mean motherfuckin' servant of God?
Jacob: I'm a mean, mhm mhm servant of God.

So, I'm telling Prof about that part, and joking about how the Hysteric Cleric and I have to figure out how to include that in my ordination service. "Well, you're a Unitarian Universalist, they wouldn't have a problem with that, right?" he joked.

"Eh, no, that would be a problem," I replied.

"Oh, so even in a Unitarian Universalist church, you couldn't say M-F?"

"No, no, that would be okay," I said, completely straight-faced. "It's the word 'God' ..."